


Gibson Girl

by mercyme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation kink, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 04:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercyme/pseuds/mercyme
Summary: For those skeptical about John's shoulders fitting into a dress, I humbly offer the1890's-1900sGibson Girlmutton sleeve.These outlaws and this fandom, man...tumblr if you wanna chat:cowboy-mercyme





	Gibson Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [moving right along](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049058) by [devils_trap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devils_trap/pseuds/devils_trap). 



When Dutch steps off the coach, their success is immediately evident in the swagger of his step and the smug look on his face.

Javier follows, and trunks and bags and hatboxes are unloaded, each heavier than the last as evidenced by their strain. They don’t even bother with the heaviest trunks, simply hurling them from the stagecoach rack. From where he’s standing by the horses, Arthur catches glimpses of gold bars and silver. He watches how Dutch inspects the luggage, eyes almost misty as he flips through a stack of bonds, and thinks he may have been wrong to doubt the plan in the first place.

Then Dutch glances up, back into the doorway of the coach, extending a hand to meet another.

Arthur sees the dress first: vivid red tabinet, skirt fitted closely at the waist; fullness falling from the center back, unsupported by any bustle or steels, plain and untrimmed, in a flowing line to the ground. The bodice is rigid, trimmed to form a close, deep V-shape in the front with a collarette of intricate, white lace at the throat. The mutton sleeves blossom big at the shoulder and narrow gently to clasp tightly at the wrist. Arthur takes it all in. The spidery lace at the throat, a ruby pin, the maroon silk ribbon and the ostentatious picture hat framing the face, a lavish spray of ostrich feathers tucked into the band.

A murmur runs through camp. Arthur takes in the rest of her.

The woman is tall but slender, her soft, dark hair piled loosely into a chignon about her face. It is nestled at the back of her neck, tucked underneath the hat brim, and Arthur stares at the pink, sweet shell of her ear, the strong line of her jaw, her mouth, full and wide. Her eyes are downcast as she steps down from the coach with her glove tucked into Dutch’s. The suggestion of skin at her throat makes the inside of Arthur’s mouth wet, makes him want to close the distance between them.

Then the woman is stretching boorishly, scratching at her armpit and taking off her hat— _oh_ , thinks Arthur—tossing it to the side to reveal that it’s not a woman. It’s John.

Bill wolf-whistles.

“Not a fucking word,” John says, gruff. He hitches the dress up roughly about him and shoves through the gathered group, “And I don’t want to hear shit about me not carrying my weight ‘round here no more.”

Molly calls, “Wait, John! What’re you going to do with the dress?”

“Quit it,” Dutch says, voice unamused, eyes tracking John’s quick retreat to his tent. The rest comply easily enough, gathering around the coach to inspect the loot.

Arthur’s in a thrall and, without fully realizing, he drifts to John’s side of camp.

“What’re you doing here?” John snaps as Arthur ducks into his tent unannounced. John’s not taken off the dress, yet—hasn’t even moved to—splotches of red rising high in his cheeks.

Arthur makes a considering noise in his throat. He steps close to John, crowding him against the barrel that serves as his table. The bottle of whiskey atop it jostles, amber liquid splashing up the sides.

“I know how these dresses can be,” he’s rhythmically dragging his hand against the fabric of John’s bodice, right where the waist blooms into the hip, “how hard they can be to take off.”

John scoffs, grabbing Arthur’s hand to still it. Arthur laces their fingers together, running his thumb over John’s coaxingly.

“I’ve spent the last few days as a woman and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you men’re all the same.” He shifts around and raises his free hand to loosen his chignon, allowing Arthur to hold the other almost as an afterthought.

“Us men, huh?”

John sets his jaw stubbornly, glaring up at him, “What’s between my legs aside, I stand by it, Arthur.”

His mouth twists into a moue. Combined with the dress, it makes Arthur have all sorts of chivalrous thoughts.

“Men like you are after one thing,” John continues with a yank to his hair, “You’re here all gallant-like to help me take my dress off? How stupid do you think I am? Next you’re going to tell me that sucking dick gives the complexion a youthful vigor.”

“Now how would you know? You ain’t got no authority to speak to the benefits of sucking dick,” Arthur chuckles low in his throat at John’s outraged splutter, bringing his free hand up to meet John’s where it is struggling with his chignon. Arthur removes a few pins and John’s dark hair falls to John’s shoulders. Pretty.

“I got _some_ authority, thanks,” John says haughtily, “soon to be a distant memory for the likes of you.”

“You’re gonna be a spinster at this rate, John,” Arthur chides, pressing a kiss to his brow. He squeezes John’s hand and brings it up to place a kiss on the back of it.

John huffs, drawing his hand back, “Quit teasing. You don’t know how it’s been this week, pretending to be Dutch’s betrothed and how he’d _look_ at me, or at least _have_ to look at me on account of keeping up appearances, and not just him but the others-their eyes always lingering. Making me feel…feel like…”

Arthur cups his jaw, tracing a broad thumb over John’s lips. John doesn’t move away, pupils blowing wide.

“Feel like what?”

“Humiliated,” John chokes out.

“ _Sexy_ ,” he thinks, lapping obediently at Arthur’s thumb. The image isn’t lost on Arthur—the high collar, the broad sleeves narrowing to a trim waist—miles and miles of puritanical lace and fabric subverted.

Arthur licks into John’s mouth, his fingers running through his hair with one hand and pulling John close at the waist with the other. He can feel John’s cock rise to attention against his thigh, and smiles into the kiss. Arthur nips at John’s bottom lip- the fact that John seems almost ashamed of his dick, shifting his hips away from Arthur as if to hide it with a little whine, makes it all the sweeter.

"I…I don't know. If I can. In this." John manages, his voice tight. Arthur hushes him gently, broad hand running down over the lacy fabric adorning John’s chest. Underneath, they both know he’s fairly smooth and hairless. The thought makes something hot and wanting clench inside of John— _yes_. Tears nearly raise to his eyes he’s filled with so much throbbing, panting need. He’s afraid of it.

"So soft, sweetheart." Arthur whispers, voice soothing. He’s rubbing at John’s nipples through the soft fabric, drawing a startled gasp out of John. Arthur gently tugs, watching him arch and shudder. "Do you like that? When I toy with your nipples?"

He lowers his head, mouthing at one of them, gently taking John’s nipple between his teeth when John inhales shortly, grabbing at Arthur’s hair.

The corset is restricting his breathing and it makes him lightheaded, his cock pressing into his petticoat. His own high whining noises are humiliating, sending throbbing heat between his legs.

"So pretty, done up like this. Like a girl."

John whimpers a confused, wanting sort of noise. Arthur draws down the high collar of John’s lacy collarette, licking a possessive stripe up his neck.

"You can be a girl for me, sweetheart. Would you like that?" He bites down against the crook of John’s neck, "You can be a good girl for me."

John’s cock twitches and John’s again reminded of what he’s wearing. Arthur knows he has him. He walks them back to John’s bed, if you can call it that. It’s a bed roll stacked atop some crates and pallets. Precarious. Arthur sits and brings John into his lap, John’s back to Arthur’s broad chest. John realizes that he’s seen Arthur like this in countless bars across the west, sprawled out with a woman his lap, her skirts billowing over them both.

Kissing behind his ear and neck, Arthur says softly, “Look at you, sitting across my lap, legs spread wide for anyone to see.”

He reaches his hand around and palms John’s dick through the dress, pressing down. John’s breathing hitches needily, head falling back on Arthur’s shoulders, staring up at Arthur in wonder.

“Ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, an edge of approval in his voice.

John nods, held rapt as Arthur begins to gather the dress under his hands. Arthur openly moans at the sight of the dark stockings stretched taut on John’s long legs, the garter belt straps pulled tight and digging into the muscles of his upper thighs.

John flushes, embarrassed—with the dress piled up around his hips, his dick is exposed. It’s red and hard, his balls already tight against it. Ready to come just from Arthur’s gaze, his gravelly words. Precum leaks from the tip. Arthur traces a fingertip up his cock, watching him twitch. He gathers the precum with his finger then brings it to John’s lips.

Groaning, blush high in his cheeks, John acquiesces. He wraps his lips around Arthur’s finger and sucks, cheeks hollowing.

"John," Arthur says softly, evenly, his free hand stroking John’s inner thighs, just above the black stockings. "You want to please me, don't you?"

John shivers, popping off Arthur’s fingers and whispering a hoarse litany, “ _Yes, yes, yes”_ even as Arthur sets a gentle but firm hand to his shoulders, pushing him from his lap to the ground. Turning on his knees, John gazes up at him, stricken. The dress pools around him, forces an arch to his back as his knees spread wide and he lowers himself fully. He has shamefully thought about this before, has thought about what it would be like to submit all the way, not in the tentative, testing way they’ve done it so far. To fully immerse himself in the fantasy, what he needs.

He takes as deep of a breath as he can in the corset, ribs pushing into its sides, and nuzzles into Arthur’s lap. He knows what Arthur wants, doesn’t need to be told, and he mouths at Arthur’s cock through his pants.

"Open your mouth." Arthur commands mildly. "Open it wide for me, sweetheart."

John’s cock twitches at his words. He wants to be a  _good girl_  for him. As Arthur pops the buttons to his fly and takes out his dick, John surrenders. He pushes his chest forward, hands coming to rest on his thighs. He rolls his hips up against the fabric, desperate for any friction. Grateful for whatever Arthur deigns to gives him.

He opens his mouth wide, tongue out.

" _Good girl_ —take me." Arthur growls, one of his hands coming to the back of John’s head as he pushes himself in.

John obeys. Arthur’s better at sucking dick than he is but John’s eager and willing. Getting better the more they do it. In this case it doesn’t matter because Arthur is face fucking him, forcing the submission as though John hadn’t offered it up on a silver platter. He gags and Arthur lets him up for air. John sinks back down on Arthur’s dick and straddles one of Arthur’s legs, grinding against it. Debasing himself.

“You want it so bad,” Arthur moans, hand tightening in John’s hair. John doesn’t answer, figures that that’s pretty clear seeing as John’s thrusting up against his leg like a bitch in heat. Arthur pulls out, saliva and precum drip down John’s face.

"Lay on your stomach, sweetheart."

And John does, god help him, climbing back onto the bed and flushing.

Arthur’s strong hands manhandle him into position, on his knees with his head and chest down, elbows supporting him. He nudges John’s legs apart, pulling the dress up and over John’s hips. John feels exposed, his asshole and throbbing cock presenting to the room. He shifts and the garter straps tug, stretching against the back of his thighs.

Arthur pops one of the garter belt straps against the back of John’s thigh then let some oil drip onto his exposed, flushed hole. John twitches, making a choked sound of surprise.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me, John?" Arthur asks, voice rough, as John’s hips try to rock into something, anything. He chokes out a sound of confused pleasure when Arthur begins rubbing a fingertip in circles on his hole. "I am going to get you wet, sweetheart. I know you’re ready to be filled but I have to get you slick and wet for me, so I can put my cock in your pussy."

John’s breath leaves him in a rush. If his body wasn't flushed before, it is now.

A high noise escapes him when Arthur skates his finger around his hole, teasing him. Playing with him. The noise morphs into a whimper as Arthur slides a finger in—Arthur’s going slower than he normally would and John groans in frustration, hands gripping the blankets. He wants to reach and stroke himself; it would only take a few jerks he’s so desperate and already so close-

“Arthur, please. Let me-can I touch-”

Arthur hushes him with soft noise in the back of his throat, rocking his finger in and out of him before adding a second. “Don't you want my cock? Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?"

Arthur curls his finger inside to rub his prostate. A moan is punched out of John that turns into a near wail, muffled quickly by Arthur’s broad hand over his mouth. John’s twisting, head arched back, caught between John’s hand over his mouth and fingers in his asshole. John works himself back onto Arthur’s fingers, fucking himself.

Arthur releases him, smoothing a hand down the back of John’s dress to press him back into the bed, and adds a third finger.

He’s pressing on that spot again. John arches his hips higher, precum dripping from the throbbing head of his cock.

Something hot and wanting that’s been building inside John—the part that twitched awake when he first heard Dutch’s stupid plan, first ran a hand over the damn red dress—breaks. He let out a wet moan. His cock is aching, but he dare not touch himself, too aware of Arthur’s command, of the dizzying control Arthur has over him.

" _God_!" He gasps, hips rolling back towards Arthur, moans breathy with want. " _Please_ …Arthur I need it."

He is losing himself, slowly. Arthur is taking him apart.

Arthur’s fingers are moving easily inside him now, slick with oil, fucking into him as John’s hips rock back towards Arthur’s big frame kneeling behind him. So close to abandoning his shame.

"What do you want, sweetheart? You have to tell me." He crooks his fingers a little so that he can drip oil into John, make a wet mess of his clenching hole, like he  really is a girl, desperate and wet.

"Tell me what you want, John," he coaxes, running a hand teasingly over where John’s stockings meet bare skin. 

John is shaking. The corset feels too tight. His body is slick with sweat, his ass high in the air and slick with oil. He is rolling his hips back, moaning at the three fingers, and needing  _more_. He needs everything Arthur will give him. He wants to be good for him.

"Please, I want your cock,” John saye, his hoarse voice a rasp stuttered with quick breaths. "I want your cock, Arthur."

John whimpers, thinking of Dutch’s hands on him the past week. The teasing touches. The heavy gazes of their targets.

“I want your cock,” he moans into the bed, “The others, those men, they looked at me like a thing to own. But even when Dutch was holding my hand, showing me off for them”-John’s breath catches as Arthur twists his fingers again-“all I could think of was you. Your cock.”

"Good girl," Arthur says, a possessive need curling through him. John was spreading so easily around his fingers, his hole flushed where he was rocking his fingers inside.

Arthur lets out a quiet moan of his own at the total submission, "Where do you want my cock?"

John was so close, he just needs to give in a little more. Then he'd be Arthur’s.

John knew what to say. The shame of it is fading with every rocking motion of his hips, with the wide stretch of Arthur’s three thick fingers inside him. His forehead presses into the bed as he chokes out his need, tears spiking.

"I need your cock inside me," He is squeezing around Arthur’s fingers as he crooked them, pressing in on the sweet spot inside. When Arthur didn't speak, John whined, arching his back further, wantonly displaying himself. "P-please! I need your cock in me, _please_."

Perfect.

  
Arthur pulls his fingers out slowly.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Arthur says softly, voice gravelly. He rubs the head of the dick lightly back and forth against John’s hole, pressing forward a little to stretch him, to hear him moan. To let him feel how hard Arthur is for him.

"You’ve been such a good girl, John."

John whimpers his need in response, anticipation rolling like poison through his body. His chest feels tight, his cock aching and dripping. He needs it so badly.

"I want you to take all of my cock. I want to be deep inside you." Arthur cups John’s ass and spreads him, his persistent stretching beforehand making John gape a little. "You want it, don't you? You need to be filled."

He is pushing forwards incrementally, stretching him open, “Look at the state of you, your dress up around your hips. This is your natural state, isn’t it?”

"Arthur, please,” John pushes back as Arthur pushes in slow, "I want to be good for you. I want to take it.”

Arthur’s cock is fully housed within John. The sounds coming from John are positively filthy. Arthur runs his hands over the bodice of the dress, hands gripping the corset to pull John back on his dick like a cock sleeve.

A blush is creeping up underneath John’s collar, obscured by the lace. Arthur lays himself over John’s back and bites his shoulder, possessive. He runs a hand up underneath the fabric of the dress until it’s flat on his lower stomach, just below the corset and above his straining cock. He rolls his hips slowly.

"Tell me where my cock is, John." Arthur says softly into his ear, mouthing at John’s neck and stroking the skin just above his cock. He knows how to make John surrender completely.

John shivers all over, grinding down onto Arthur’s cock. He didn't respond at first, shaking and tense, then he shifts his legs a little wider.

"Inside me," John says, his chest heaving with effort as Arthur begins to move deeper, “You’re so fucking deep inside me.”

Arthur presses a kiss to his throat and pulls himself upright again, hands grabbing his hips. He draws back slowly, relishing in the long whine John lets out as Arthur pulls back until only the head of his cock is inside him, then slides back in in one long slide. He starts the pace like that, slow in and out, making him take the full length of it every time. He wraps a hand around John’s dick, not moving. Not yet.

"And who do you belong to?" Arthur asks softly, squeezing gently on his hips. John is fucking himself back on Arthur’s dick now, meeting his strokes.

"You."

“That’s right,” Arthur hums, starting to move faster. He tightens his grip on John’s dick, stroking him. John is lost now, broken under pleasure, panting beneath him, “You’re mine and you’ll take what’s given to you.”

Arthur shifts his hips, angling his thrusts, searching for the spot inside that had dragged a wail out of John earlier. He knows he’s found it when a groan punches out of John, hips twitching.

"Are you going to come for me?" Arthur asks, breath picking up with the effort of driving deep and hard into him. John groans into the bed, hips bucking in a frantic motion towards Arthur, between Arthur’s dick and Arthur’s hand.

"You are," Arthur teases, thrusts speeding up, "do it then. Come with my cock deep inside you."

Arthur snaps his hips against John’s, the sound slick and wet. Stroking once, twice, and then John’s choking out a harsh breath, spilling onto the bed beneath them. Arthur fucks him through it, thrusting fast and hard, milking John’s come out of him until he nearly sobs, overstimulated.

Arthur pulls out slowly, watching John’s hole gape open and dipping a finger in lazily before rolling John over.

John’s utterly debauched, dress crinkled and mussed. Arthur lays him on his back gently, hooking John’s legs around his hips, the dress pooling beneath them. He hums in pleasure at John’s surprised moan when he lines himself back up, forcing himself back inside.

“You’re not done, yet, sweetheart,” Arthur says softly, nuzzling into the crook of John’s neck, the soft touch of the sleeve brushing against his cheek.

He rubs softly at John’s nipples where they stand pert through the fabric, grazes a hand through John’s hair, “You’re so pretty John.”

John is wrecked, eyes glazed over dreamily, mouth slightly ajar as he catches his breath. He lays on his back, body moving pliantly with each of Arthur’s slow, deep thrusts.

"You look so good on my cock, sweetheart," Arthur says, kissing gently at John’s jaw, his cheeks, his temples. John’s too flushed to blush any deeper, but Arthur can see he his pleasure. "Taking it just like you should."

John moans soft and low in his throat.

It takes time. John’s breath comes in soft, little pants as Arthur mouths at his nipples, presses weight down on the corset, nips at his jaw. Sometimes, as if by mistake, Arthur brushes John’s cock with teasing, feather-light touches. As Arthur’s own need grows and minutes pass, John’s cock is rising into fullness again, flushed tip resting against his belly.

He is letting out little " _uh, uh, uh_ " sounds with each thrust of Arthur’s hips.

"You’re such a good girl, John,” Arthur says, cradling John’s face with a broad palm. Arthur keeps his pace slow, slow enough that he doesn’t come earlier than he wants. John’s need, reignited, gets more desperate and he starts to writhe under Arthur, clawing at the back of Arthur’s shirt.

"Arthur," John chokes out, desperate. Arthur smiles wickedly down at him, not daring to pick up his speed.

Impatient, John rocks needily on Arthur’s cock, and Arthur moves the hand that was on John’s cock to his hips, stilling him. Pressing him into the bed.

"Please," he begs, but Arthur only kisses him, licking into him gently.

"What?" Arthur hums, raising one hand to gently stroke across John’s lips while the other unyieldingly keeps John’s hips in place like iron, "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"I-”John falters, feeling filthy again. Embarrassed. Sexy?

"You need me to fuck you harder?" Arthur guesses, "You want to come? Want me to come? Fill you up?"

John nods now, looking pleadingly up at Arthur, eyelashes matting together. He’s fighting Arthur’s grip, though he’s not strong enough to overcome it. He huffs, finally subdued.

"Fuck. Okay. Please, fuck me. I want you to come in me and I want to _feel_ it.”

Arthur begins to move, his own desire strong.

He wants to fill John up, claim him, mark him, claim him completely.

"Are you mine?" Arthur drawls with a shove of his hips. He feels John twitch a little at his words. Arthur moves with purpose now, his hips slapping against John’s as he fucks deep. He takes John’s cock, flushed purple at the tip and leaking, and begins to pump it in time with his thrusts.

“Are you mine, sweetheart? Spread so wide for me, taking it so good-”

"Yes, yes, yes.  _God_ , Arthur, yours," he pants, corset too tight, too restraining. Holding him in place, holding him down. Arthur shakes with him now, his orgasm approaching fast.

"Gonna fill you up," Arthur growls, as he feels his orgasm begin to seize him, “Mark you.”

Arthur comes. His arms tremble as his hips roll up to fully seat himself in John, pressing with deep, shallow thrusts as he comes  inside John. The press of Arthur into him, of Arthur’s hand on his cock, is enough to get John to follow suit.

John comes on the dress.

Arthur slumps over to lay next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and bringing him in close. Arthur feels boneless. He’s so fucking glad that nobody can see how close he is to passing out.

“John, you awake?” Arthur asks, voice sleepy and fucked out.

John makes a noise, face pressed into Arthur’s neck that could be interpreted as a “yes”.

“You should keep the dress.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those skeptical about John's shoulders fitting into a dress, I humbly offer the [1890's-1900s](https://2lth8w1uv77536l8d72pqh10-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/1895-Jordan-Marsh-Victorian-dresses-walking-suits-17.jpeg) [ Gibson Girl](https://2lth8w1uv77536l8d72pqh10-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/1898-fashion-gibson-girl-era-edwardian-pin-500x515.jpg) [ mutton sleeve ](https://2lth8w1uv77536l8d72pqh10-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/1895-Jordan-Marsh-blouse-mutton-sleeve-1.jpg).
> 
> These outlaws and this fandom, man...
> 
> tumblr if you wanna chat: [cowboy-mercyme](https://cowboy-mercyme.tumblr.com)


End file.
